They both instantly froze. Darcy's face was twisted in an agony of interrupted desire, ragged breaths suddenly astonishingly loud in their ears.
“Yes, Mr. Anders,” Darcy's voice boomed, startlingly normal and steady, given the circumstances.
“Sir, we are a mile or so from the seaboard,” Mr. Anders informed, voice faintly heard from above.
“Thank you, Mr. Anders.” Darcy responded in a clipped tone, a weak moan escaping. Lizzy was stifling a giggle, body shaking in mirth. “You are naughty, Mrs. Darcy! Pure evil, I daresay,” he whispered tightly.
She met his glazed eyes with an impish smile, rapidly lost in a crushing kiss. Darcy shoved massively and in seconds they were replete, gasping and panting in each other's arms. With only minutes to tidy themselves, they laughingly and joyously assisted each other, lastly Lizzy retying Darcy's cravat, a skill she was now very proficient at.
“There,” she declared, “as perfect as Samuel would do.”
Darcy was beaming, smile broad as he leaned to kiss her ruddy lips. “Thank you, my heart, for everything. I love you.”
She smoothed his rumpled hair, her own face radiant with love and satisfaction. “My pleasure, dearest. Anytime.”
He laughed, reaching around her body to open the windows. The gust of fresh sea air was notable and their timing ideal. The carriage completed a wide arc over the sloping dune, stopping moments later onto a flat expanse beside the road. Lizzy gasped, hand rising to her mouth in sheer awe. Darcy glowed with pleasure at his wife's expression, opening the door and hopping out before Tillson, the footman accompanying them on this journey, had alit from his perch.
“Come, Elizabeth,” he said, offering a hand to his wife, who took it rather absently, her gaze engrossed with the scenery.
They stood on a forty-foot cliff of combined sand and rock with clumps of gorse, lichen, kidney vetch, and heather about their feet. The varied colors and textures displayed by the array of vegetation were dazzling enough, but Lizzy would note this later. Her eyes were captured by the sea.
It was a clear afternoon, the evening fog yet at bay, with a sky of vivid cloudless blue. The dark blue-grey water sparkled and reflected the brilliant sunlight as a million flashing candles, endless to the horizon as the water rippled and roiled. Foam-crested waves of all sizes crashed, the sound loud upon their ears. Some waves reached the shore, tides pushing and pulling steadily over the white sands. The beach stretched for miles, dotted with clusters of dried seaweed and debris. To their left beyond the gently ascending and descending dunes, the cliff rose steeply with a sheer escarpment of chalk sandstone, massive boulders fallen amongst the naturally rock floor. Waves fed the stone, mosses growing in a thick blanket and the scurry of tiny crabs and clutching shellfish visible from their roost above.
Seagulls flew in screeching flocks over the water and beach, darting with incredible speed and accuracy to catch the unwary fish. Groups of nightjar and kittiwake rambled over the sands, bobbing and conversing as they too pecked into the rock clefts and sand for dinner. No humans were present although the faintly visible cluster of buildings off to the right indicated the nearness of Cromer and civilization in the lower valley.
“William, it is everything I imagined multiplied a hundredfold! No painting does the reality justice. I never accounted for the noise! It is like thunder.” She trailed off, unable to articulate.
Darcy watched her with delight. As with sharing the beauty of Pemberley or any of the other sights they had seen together, his joy was boundless in experiencing it with her. She was aglow with happiness and awe, struck as Darcy always was by the impressive majesty of the roaring surf and vast expanse of ocean. Turning her incandescent countenance to him, his knees instantly weakening at her breathless beauty, she leaned toward him and clasped his forearms enthusiastically.
“Can we walk on the sand, William, please? I want to feel the water.”
Darcy smiled indulgently. Glancing around, he noted that the road they parked beside veered left through the heath and sparse trees, beginning a gradual decline toward Cromer. The cliff elevation decreased until eventually disappearing into the sand at sea level some two miles before the town. Approximately twenty feet away from where they stood, he could see a rough trail twisting between the reeds and rocks down to the beach. It appeared safe enough, so he directed Lizzy to the trailhead, pausing to examine further. Lizzy, in her excitement, hesitated not a second, treading onto the sand path with surefootedness. Darcy grasped her elbow, pulling her back with a stern glare.
“Elizabeth! Be cautious. I know you are as a gazelle in your grace and confidence, but I would rather not see my wife and child tumbling down a cliff! I will go first and you can hold onto my arm.”
Lizzy pressed her lips together but did not argue. The path was not steep, in fact was not a true path at all, but more accurately consisted of sandy gaps between the tufts of vegetation. Twice it was necessary to step over masses of flowering gorse, reacquiring the trail downward. Nonetheless, it was an easy descent, Lizzy not the slightest bit winded. Her booted feet sunk into the warm sand with each stride. She laughed, looking at Darcy with sparkling eyes.
“It is rather difficult to walk on and so warm! I can feel the heat through my soles. I was planning on removing my shoes but think not.” She squatted, scooping a handful of the hot dry sand and trickling it through her fingers.
“Closer to the water the sand will be cooler, and firmer. You can remove your shoes then if you wish. I should warn you, the sand will lodge between your toes.”
He was grinning happily, Lizzy leaning onto his chest with a coy simper and fingers at his cravat. “Will you remove your boots, William, so I can see sand between your lovely toes? I might even be impelled to tickle your gritty toes with mine. Would this please you?”
“I suppose I could be induced to perform in such a childish manner as long as we remain alone.” He bent to kiss her as they were utterly alone, even Mr. Anders and Tillson out of view, but Lizzy pivoted and dashed toward the water line, her glittering laugh waving behind her.
Her sprint was not as speedy or graceful as usual due to the soft sand, Darcy rapidly outdistancing her with longer and stronger legs encased in tough boots. He halted on the hard sand, just beyond the tide's reach, hands extended to assist her final few steps.
“Very well,” she panted, “it is official. I am a whale too ponderous to move across the sand! Grossly unfair, Mr. Darcy, and it is entirely your fault!”
Darcy chuckled, kissing her forehead and then kneeling to unlace her shoes. “I do believe you have something to do with the state you find yourself in, my love; however, if it pleases you, I shall assume all blame. Steady yourself on my shoulder and breathe deeply. The salt air will revive you. Other foot.”
Lizzy gingerly placed her naked foot onto the sand, but Darcy was correct that it was cooler near the water, although warm. She wiggled her toes, smiling at the strange sensation. “It feels so different than dirt or river sand. So fine and soft.” Her other foot was now bare, Darcy holding her boots and stockings, and she began to stroll, slowly digging her toes with each step while hiking her dress up to mid-calf. She headed toward the water line, the sand gradually cooling further with moistness apparent, as Darcy watched her with rising delight.
He experienced a sudden flash of memory.
Georgiana at four years of age, chubby legs striding with exaggerated steps over the sand at Sidmouth with her tiny face screwed up in perplexity, seriously debating whether she liked this odd sensation or not. Anne Darcy held her daughter's hand with a sunny smile, laughing her throaty laugh, while Darcy and his father stood several feet away observing the scene with pleasure.
“She is going to cry,” a solemn sixteen-year-old Fitzwilliam said. “You wait. One of her infamous bellows that will frighten the seagulls clear to France.”
His father laughed, clapping a hand onto his son's shoulder, already on the same level as his own. “Bet you a shilling she laughs
.”
Darcy looked at his father with a grin. “Deal!” They shook on it and not two minutes later Darcy was digging into his pockets for a shiny shilling to hand over to his father while Georgie chortled her babyish delight, tugging on her mother's hand in an insistent urge to become one with the cresting waves.
The scene on this deserted stretch of Norfolk shore was different in a myriad of ways, but the sight of his wife laughing as the cold, foamy water lapped at her ankles was strangely reminiscent. He did not fear her bodily launching into the sea, but her amusement and childlike zeal were not too dissimilar from Georgiana's. She glanced over her shoulder to her husband, who remained standing and holding her shoes.
“Are you afraid, Mr. Darcy? Fear the cold water may freeze your toes? Or that the tide may suck you in, a big fellow like yourself?”
Darcy shook his head, deigning not to answer. He looked about, spotting a rock five feet away. He sat and removed his boots and stockings, after another thorough search about to ensure they were alone. He joined his wife, already splashing her way toward the rocks, taking her hand as they strolled. He sighed deeply. “This is precisely as I imagined it. You and I strolling along the beach with the waves crashing and birds flying. Not a soul in sight.”
“It will likely be busier where we are staying, so we should enjoy this time.”
“Not necessarily. Mr. Vernor said the inn is secluded near a private cove. The guests are allotted individual periods to bathe, if desired, or merely gaze into the sea. Of course, we will be visiting other areas more public, but I chose this place for that reason. He also said the dining parlors overlook the ocean. We can dine and watch for sea creatures or ships passing.” He paused, drawing Lizzy into his arms and leaning for a kiss.
They held each other tightly in silence, contentedly watching the surf and inhaling the fresh, crisp air as the sun lowered in the west.
WILLIAM.”
He turned at the sound of her voice, scenery of sunset over the water forgotten in a millisecond by the exquisite vision before his eyes. She wore a new gown of aquamarine satin, the skirt bordered with rouleaux of twining lace and roses; a velvet navy-blue spencer with short capped sleeves trimmed with wide, white lace accenting her bosom; gathers of satin falling in gentle folds over her swollen belly. The Kashmir shawl draped her fair shoulders, and a choker of blue velvet with a diamond pendant graced her slim neck. She was beautiful, glowing, and vibrant. Darcy was struck forcibly by how profound was his love and pride in squiring her as his.
He smiled, extending an arm with hand palm up. “Elizabeth, you are breathtaking. Come, beloved, watch the sun's setting glow upon the waves before it falls beyond the trees to the west.” She joined him on the small balcony, Darcy encircling her waist and kissing her rosy cheek before resuming his study of the ocean.
A leisurely, halting drive along the coast had brought them to the enormous, sprawling building of rustic wooden beams and irregular stone that rested on a promontory roughly fifteen feet above the shore. Built over one hundred years ago, the lodge was once the seaside vacation dwelling of a now deceased viscount from Shropshire. Left without an immediate heir and financially depleted, the estate had been inherited by a distant cousin who wisely grasped onto the rising fashion of seaside bathing and avoiding Continental travel during the decades of wars. He transformed the gorgeous mansion into an elegant, opulent resort sought after by the gentry from all parts of England. Catering exclusively to the elite desiring a quiet recess from the cares of life, the woodsy seclusion, provincial charm, and luxurious furnishings created a wonderful combination highly praised among those wealthy enough to afford the accommodations.
Located a half mile south of Caister-on-Sea, the three-story-tall country house was nestled aside a sheltered stretch of beach secluded from the main shoreline by a natural rocky protrusion to the north and man-made wooden pier to the south. The pier was part of the resort, arising from an elevated, tree-lined bluff beyond the formal garden, and extending a hundred feet over the waves. The ornately designed formal garden and patio positioned near the pier also skirted the cliff's brink, providing a stunning view of the North Sea from the shade of canvas and leaves over plush chairs and settees. The bluff was surrounded by indigenous trees and bushes allowed to grow as nature intended with minimal purposeful landscaping interfering.
The individual suites were generous, well apportioned, and situated to grant adequate privacy from the fellow guests except for brief passes in the wide corridors. Ground floor public rooms that allowed for socializing and group dining if so desired were interspersed with intimate parlors and sheltered alcoves for personal privacy.
The Darcys had arrived late in the afternoon with no time to tour the elaborate environs or the opulent public rooms inside the house. With a planned sojourn of two weeks, they would have plenty of time to explore the resort's attributes. In fact, neither felt any rush at all, perfectly content to stand together on their ocean-facing balcony and observe the brilliant hues of scarlet, orange, and purple.
Lizzy rested her head against Darcy's upper arm with a sigh. “I have never seen such colors. Beautiful. Can we walk on the beach at night?”
“Certainly, although probably not wise in that gown. I would not wish to see it soiled overly. You are absolutely ravishing, my love,” he finished in a low tone.
Lizzy slipped her arms over his shoulders, peering up into his face. “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Thank you for the compliment and you are welcome to ravish later; however, now I am famished.”
The approximately fifty current guests sat in various-sized groupings throughout the dining parlors, some electing to eat at solitary tables sequestered from strangers, but some desiring to sit in larger companies of friends or new acquaintances. Darcy, never overly comfortable in a large crowd of unknown individuals, had opted to dine with his wife in one of the private dining parlors at a single table secluded near the wall-spanning windows overlooking the bay. The food was marvelous, service elegant and superb, and atmosphere divine. Lizzy and Darcy gazed at each other over the candlelight, softly talking as they ate, and filled to bursting capacity with unrelenting love. A number of evening entertainments were scheduled and offered nightly for the lodgers, but for this night the Darcys wished to be alone, departing immediately upon finishing their meal and returning to their room. There they would stay, primarily in the comfortable bed, snuggling and loving and sleeping intermittently until well after sunrise.
“Need any assistance with removing your gown, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Stay over there, Mr. Darcy, as I am quite certain sea bathing would be delayed indefinitely if you aided my disrobing.”
Darcy laughed, obeying his wife as he removed and carefully folded his waistcoat from where he sat on the narrow bench. Assist he may not do, but observe the stripping? Absolutely.
They were inside one of the resort's bathing machines Darcy reserved for an hour of private couples bathing. Naturally, despite his many excursions at coastal towns, this would be his first experience bathing with a woman, his adorable wife, the anticipation higher than any of the numerous times he swam with a troop of men.
He was impressed with the quality of bathing machine the resort offered. In point of fact, he was greatly impressed with all he had seen thus far, the remote and obscure tourist town well equipped and modern. The wide cove was divided into separate sectors for intimate bathing well away from the public areas for beach play. Furthermore, the machine usage was scheduled with segregated periods for married couples and for the individual sexes. Darcy planned to return later in the afternoon when the men bathed, already relishing what would be an extended span of intense swimming through the surf.
For now, however, he was thrilled to be here with Lizzy, introducing her to the joy of sea bathing. He only hoped he could control himself and allow her to truly enjoy the water. Watching her undress down to her shift and imagining how the thin garment would cling to her body once wet was not conducive to mai
ntaining his restraint, Darcy swallowing and forcefully tearing his eyes away.
“I suppose he is safe and warm, untouchable by the cold water.” Darcy glanced over, Lizzy standing with hands caressing her abdomen.
He smiled. “He is cocooned and protected, beloved, do not fear. The dippers all agreed, and you are not the first pregnant woman to bathe. Besides, the water is not all that cold. I think you shall find it refreshing. Are you ready?”
She nodded, eyes gazing over his naked form with equally decadent thoughts arising. “Are you certain we cannot be seen? I would rather no other see you in such a state.”
Darcy laughed. “Fret not. I promise you, I would not permit you appearing in your shift if I thought there the slightest chance we would be visible to roving eyes! The canopy shall shield us. Now, sit on the bench and hold on while we move.” She did as he instructed, Darcy pulling the lever to raise the outside flag. This was the signal for the driver to back the wheeled cabin into the water.
The so-called bathing machine had been around since the early 1700s, invented by Benjamin Beale. The concept was remarkably simple: a large wagon propelled by two horses with a canvas or wooden shed built on top; the interior generally consisted of shelves or closets to place one's clothing, a bench for sitting, and supplied with a stack of towels; one door in the front as the entrance, the backside open with steps to enter the water. A driver would direct the horses to back the wagon into the water then, in the case of private bathers, depart a safe distance until the flag was lowered as signal to withdraw the device from the water. Same-sex “dippers” were available to attend those persons who could not swim. This particular machine also sported an enormous tent off the back end to allow for added privacy.
Darcy jumped unhesitantly into the water, immediately diving completely under, swimming several clean strokes away, and surfacing with a splash. He turned to his wife with a grin, water running in rivers down his torso while he smoothed the wet hair off his brow. Lizzy waited on the top step, dangling one foot into the waves and admiring unabashedly. The water was waist high on Darcy, meaning that it would hit Lizzy well above her bulging abdomen. He waded back to her, snaking cold wet hands under her shift and clutching her inner thighs.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy Page 11